


Life Unexpected

by coralysendria



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Episode: s08e12 Death in Heaven, Fix-It, Gen, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-08 22:08:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3225209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coralysendria/pseuds/coralysendria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>You know, I've been up and down your timeline, meeting all those silly people who died to keep you alive.</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It wasn't just strangers that ended up in the Nethersphere.  Some of the Doctor's friends ended up there, too.  But the Doctor's friends are still the Doctor's friends, even if they're no longer conventionally alive, so they're not necessarily going to follow Missy's plans....</p>
<p>Trigger warnings for lead up to suicide and lots of people who died onscreen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life Unexpected

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the ever-lovely Bethynyc.

**I.**

Jack jerked awake as his chin slid off the hand propping it up. He blinked and looked around. Bland office done in shades of grey and white, except for the deep green drawn curtains presumably covering a window to his right. There was very little on the desk: a blotter, an empty in-tray, two pen cups. Each pen cup held four felt-tip pens, all leaning against the same side of the cup, precisely lined up. The pens in the left-hand cup were black, those in the right were blue. A name-plate facing him had three letters: SEB.

He frowned. This...was not what he had expected.

He was just beginning to lever himself to his feet to peek behind the curtains when the door opened. A dark-haired man in a sharp, pale suit came through the door, a file folder in his hand. "Sorry," he said, "has anyone offered you a coffee?" When Jack shook his head, he called over his shoulder for coffee to be brought. The man tossed the file folder lightly to the desk, then sat opposite Jack.

"Hello," he said brightly. "My name is Seb."

"Captain Jack Harkness. _So_ pleased to meet you." He grinned.

Seb blinked. "Oh," he said. "Most people are a bit more...confused at this stage."

Jack shrugged. "I just go with it," he said. "So what's going on?"

Seb's face arranged itself into an exaggerated parody of grief. "Weeeell, you're dead, and this is the afterlife."

"I see," Jack said. "Dead, you say."

Seb nodded. "As the proverbial door nail." He cocked his head and frowned. "I say, you _are_ taking this better than some folks."

"I have some experience in this area," Jack said, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Really?"

"Really." Jack grinned. "So, I'm dead, and you're what, the welcoming committee? I have to say that I wasn't expecting you. Though that's not necessarily a bad thing." He leaned his elbows on the desk and turned up the wattage on his smile. "What time do you get off work?"

Seb blinked. "Um, well. In a couple of hours."

"Excellent!" Jack said. "Does the afterlife include dinner? How about we grab some dinner, and then...get to know each other."

Seb looked extremely uncertain, but Jack missed whatever answer he had been about to give. Seb looked at the empty chair, then down at the folder on his desk. "Near deather," he muttered, as he tossed it into the trash can under his desk.

~*~*~

**II.**

The garden was really lovely, Jenny thought, and it would be even lovelier if she knew how she'd arrived in it. She touched her cheek, frowning. The conference call had been interrupted; she remembered the sensation of something brushing past her and the certainty that she had left the door unlocked. She looked wildly around, but there was no sign of Vastra, so she had to conclude that whatever had brought Jenny here had not affected her wife. 

"Ah, there you are, my dear." A woman appeared through an archway. Something about her reminded Jenny of an insect. Her eyes were too big, or perhaps too pale, beneath a heavy layer of paint, and she carried a tightly-furled umbrella more like a weapon than an accessory.

The best way to get information, Jenny knew, was to make people underestimate her. "Where am I?" she asked, making her eyes go wide, and allowing a quaver to enter her voice. "How did I get here?" 

"Welcome, my dear, to the Promised Land," the woman said. She lifted her arms and spun in a circle. "You'll love it here."

Her smile, Jenny thought, was predatory.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Missy," the woman answered, she spun again, coming closer to Jenny. "Now don't you worry about a thing, my dear. You'll be very happy here." Her expression changed, becoming almost thoughtful. "At least, no one has ever complained." She shrugged and smiled again.

"How did I get here?"

Missy's expression changed yet again, and she came forward and hooked her arm through Jenny's. She patted Jenny's hand firmly, and began to walk toward a bench in a marble gazebo, drawing Jenny with her. "I'm sorry to have to tell you this, my dear, but you died. This --" and she gestured expansively with her free hand "-- is what comes next." She pulled Jenny up the gazebo's steps and pushed her down on the bench. "It was those nasty Whispermen," she whispered, as though imparting a great secret. "They done for you." Her voice throbbed dramatically like a music-hall entertainer's on that last.

Jenny put a hand to her chest, as though in shock, but her mind was working furiously. If Madame was alive, she would move heaven and earth to save Jenny. And that expression might be entirely appropriate, too, given her current circumstances.

"Tell me, my dear," Missy said. "Have you seen my boyfriend lately?"

Jenny blinked. "Your...boyfriend, ma'am? Who would that be?"

"Don't you know?" Missy asked archly. "Why, the Doctor, of course, you silly thing. The Doctor."

At that moment, Jenny felt a strong shock in her chest. Her heart started beating. The garden disappeared.

"Drat," Missy said. "Oh, well. I'll see you later, Miss Jenny Flint." She laughed.

~*~*~

**III.**

When the light faded, Adric was surprised to find himself in a beautiful, formal garden surrounded by white marble walls. He was still clutching his brother's belt. He slowly lowered his arms and shoved the belt in his pocket as he looked around. The cold white walls framed the garden's lush greenery in a way that reminded him of his one visit to lost Traken. He was relatively certain the garden could not be real, given that a moment ago, he had been killed in a crashing spaceship. He had no illusions about that. He had gambled, and he had failed, and he had died. He hoped that the Doctor, Nyssa, and Tegan weren't too upset.

He wandered around the garden for a while, examining everything. Though he could hear the soft plashing of a fountain, he could not find one, nor did he see any evidence of the birds he heard. 

"Is it a spaceship?" he wondered aloud. 

A door opened in an archway some distance from him; a woman wearing a most odd suit stood framed in the doorway. Beyond her, he could see only brightness. She paused a moment, then walked toward him. 

"Well, Adric," she said, when she was close enough for him to hear her. "My noble, self-sacrificing boy -- killed attempting to save the Earth." She seated herself on a nearby bench like a queen taking her throne. "Welcome to Heaven."

"Heaven?" He cocked his head in puzzlement.

"Yes, my dear. Heaven. Paradise. The Promised Land. You know -- where you go when you die."

Adric looked around. "This?"

"Indeed." She patted the bench next to her, a clear invitation. Adric took a seat on one end of the bench. She scooted over until she was right next to him. She smiled as he leaned away.

Adric shivered. Something about that smile caused a chill to run up his spine. "Who are you?" he asked slowly.

Her smile widened. "Don't you know?"

He shook his head, but there was something...something his brain stretched after, but couldn't quite reach.

The woman's smile softened, then disappeared. She patted his hand. "No matter, my boy. No matter. You may call me Missy."

A soft chime sounded. A door opened, a door Adric was certain hadn't been there before, and a figure appeared, haloed, as Missy had been, in white light. "I have that information you requested, Missy."

"Well, hand it over," she said, a waspish note in her voice.

The man came forward, holding a sheaf of papers. Adric watched him come. He recognized the clothing as something worn on Tegan's homeworld. Why would a Terran be in an Alzarian afterlife?

The man noticed Adric's attention. "Hello," he said, in an overly smooth voice. "Sorry to interrupt your after life experience. Administration. You know how it is."

Adric just stared at him. A nervous smile appeared on the man's face, and he looked away. Adric's gaze slid toward the still-open door...and then he saw it. There. In the glow just beyond the doorway. A tiny flaw. Probably unnoticeable to most people, but Adric had been awarded a star for mathematical excellence, and a whole city full of living, breathing individuals had once been built based on the power of his ability with block transfer computations.

And at the memory of Castrovalva, the thing his brain had been reaching for clicked into place. Missy. Mistress. _Master._

His breath hitched; he couldn't help himself. 

"Is there a problem, Adric?" Missy asked, her attention instantly on him. 

Thinking as hard and fast as he could, he rose to his feet. "I'm dead."

Her brow furrowed in a slight frown. "Yes, dear. I thought we had established that already."

He had to be very careful here, he knew. He took a few tentative steps away, then turned back. He drew Varsh's belt from his pocket. "This was my brother's. Is he here?"

The man glanced at Missy, who raised her eyes from her papers, gazing at Adric from under her brows. In that instant, Adric knew his sudden surmise was correct. The Master had escaped Castrovalva and had regenerated. Into a woman? Why not? And somehow, she had ensnared him at the moment of his death. How was immaterial.

Adric had spent enough time with Nyssa to have picked up something of the biological sciences. What many people thought of as the "soul" was just electrical impulses in the brain -- a living matrix. Somehow, Missy had caught his at the moment of his death and uploaded him into a new matrix. This place.

But Adric also knew a thing or two about the base mathematics of the universe. Just as he had always been better at it than the Doctor, he was also better than the Master. Clearly, just as the Master had needed that skill to build Castrovalva, she required his abilities again. This time, though, Adric was not going to allow it. The trap was closed, yes, but there was a crack. He just had to get to it.

"That's what this is, Adric." Missy gestured with the papers in her hand, a smile on her face. "I had Seb here looking for your brother as soon as we knew you were here; that's what caused the delay in greeting you." She handed the papers back to Seb. "As soon as your intake interview is finished, you and your brother can be reunited."

"He's here?" Adric said, shading his voice with hope. He had to be certain that he was correct. "Tylos is really here?"

"Of course he is, my dear."

Adric turned and walked a few steps away in order to hide his face from Missy. He looked at the flaw again, really _looked_ at it. Yes. It would serve. He turned back to the Master and her minion. "My brother's name was Varsh." 

He knew was not really standing in a garden. He was not really diving for an exit. But that's how his mind interpreted what was happening, and so that was what he did. He dove for the flaw, and was through -- and free -- before either Missy or Seb had moved.

There was silence in the garden for a moment. Seb watched Missy warily. She sighed. "Well. I guess we'll have to go with that Gallifreyan hardware, after all. Good thing I visited there so recently, eh?" She rose. "Come along, Seb. We have some more calculations to make since our little friend will not be helping us."

~*~*~

**IV.**

"Well, helllo there!"

"Oh, not you again!"

"So, about that dinner...."

~*~*~

**V.**

The pain ceased abruptly. Harriet opened her eyes and found herself -- quite unexpectedly -- standing in front of the desk in her former office on Downing Street. A dark-haired woman most eccentricly dressed in a purple Victorian (possibly Edwardian, some part of Harriet's brain supplied) walking suit sat in the chair behind the desk.

"There you are," the woman said, looking up from the papers spread there. They were covered, Harriet saw, in odd, circular patterns. "Daleks. Aren't they just the worst? No sense of humor. At. All."

She grinned at Harriet.

"Harriet Jones," Harriet said, showing the ID card she still had in her hand. "Former Prime Minister."

"Yes," the woman said sardonically. "I know who you are. Harriet Jones, the most popular prime minister since Winston Churchill. Poised to usher in Britain's Golden Age." The woman folded her hands and leaned forward. Her pale eyes glittered. "Until you ordered Torchwood to fire on the withdrawing Sycorax vessel. Well done, sister, by the way. Please accept my belated congratulations on that one. I should have sent you a fruit basket." She sat back and regarded Harriet. "You really should have known better than to annoy the Doctor, Harriet Jones, former Prime Minister. He can get very cross, my darling boy."

"I gather, then, that you know him." Harriet frowned. She _was_ dead, wasn't she? Or had the Daleks transported her to Downing Street? Her eyes slid around the room. No, definitely not. This was _her_ office. Her successors would have redecorated, wouldn't they? And besides, that little brass swan on the shelf by the window was now in her living room. 

The woman behind the desk laughed. "Oh, yes, I know him. We go _way_ back, the Doctor and I. By the way, I'm curious: Did you ever find out what it was that he said to your aide? No? Well, I suppose it doesn't really matter. He was kind enough to pave the way for Harold Saxon, and that's the important thing."

Harriet's attention snapped back to the papers on the desk. She had seen such markings only once before. After becoming Prime Minister, she had met -- separately -- with senior officials from both UNIT and Torchwood. The UNIT representative had carried a few carefully preserved scraps of paper with markings like those. "We believe," he had said quietly, "that this is Gallifreyan writing. Very few people on this planet know that name, but Gallifrey is the Doctor's homeworld."

Harriet allowed her eyes to drift past the papers. "Harold Saxon turned out to be barking mad, in the end, so I fail to see the improvement."

The woman rose from her seat behind the desk. The smile she bent on Harriet at that moment held more than a tinge of malice. "At least he was in office long enough to change the world," she snapped. "But of course you don't remember that," she said more gently. "There are very few people who do. My darling boy saw to that."

"Perhaps you'd be so kind as to tell me who you are," Harriet said. "And how you know the Doctor?"

The woman gathered up the papers and stacked them neatly. "How I know the Doctor is...my secret. As for my name, you may call me Missy."

"Short for Melissa?"

"No," Missy said shortly. "Definitely not."

At that moment, the outer door opened and a young man in an expensive suit stuck his head in. "You asked me to remind you of your meeting, Missy."

"Thank you, Seb. Would you please proceed with Ms. Jones' intake and show her where she'll be staying?"

"Of course, Missy." 

Missy swept past Harriet, the sheaf of papers in her hand. "We'll have to have another little talk sometime," she said. "Perhaps meet for lunch, or go out for tea. I find you so _very_ amusing." She continued out of the office, her heels clacking on the floor. The door closed behind her.

"Well, if you'll come with me, Ms. Jones," the man Missy had called Seb said brightly, "we'll get you all settled in."

Harriet followed him from the office and was unsurprised to find that the rest of the building bore no resemblance whatsoever to Downing Street. She would have to keep her head about her. A horrible suspicion was blooming in her mind. That woman.... Well. The first thing she would have to do would be to gather information.

Harriet Jones wasn't stupid...but she bloody well knew how to play it. "Tell me," she said, catching up to Seb. "What is this place?"

~*~*~

**VI.**

"Where's Ianto? Seb -- where's Ianto Jones? Find him! I need to see him! Quick -- before I go back!"

~*~*~

**VII.**

"Run. Run, you clever boy, and remember me."

Missy watched with great interest as on the screen of her tablet a _Dalek_ saved the Doctor. _That_ was one strong-minded individual to have so long resisted the conversion from human to Dalek. And with advanced computer knowledge that Missy would find useful. Oh, yes. With Adric escaped beyond her reach, she definitely needed that one. Scrub the emotions, and between her and the pointers Missy had picked up from the Great So-Called Intelligence and the builders of The Library, she would have what she needed to build that army. Yes, indeed. Time to get started....

"Seb," she called. "Oh, Seb, my dear."

"Yes, Missy?" Her suited lackey appeared with alacrity.

She stabbed a finger at the screen of her tablet. "That one. Find me that one. Find out everything about her. I want her."

"Of course, Missy. Right away." He ducked out of her presence. She pressed a control stud on her bracelet and stepped into her TARDIS. In the corner of the control room, a sphere hovered. Lights pulsed here and there on the surface. Missy smiled at it. "Soon," she purred. "Soon, we'll be ready. And we'll give my darling boy the one thing he has always wanted. Won't we, my sweet?" Laughter rang out as she twirled joyously about the console, petting the sphere each time she passed it.

~*~*~

**VIII.**

The knock at his door woke Alistair. He grumbled and rolled over, pulling the blanket over his head. It was far too early in the morning; since his retirement, he had learned to enjoy late risings and leisurely mornings.

He was just dropping back off to sleep when the knocking came again, more insistently. "All right, all right, keep your hair on," he muttered as he rolled out of bed. He shrugged into a robe, cinching the belt around his waist as he headed for the door.

A woman with a halo of wild curls was just raising her hand to knock again when he pulled the door open.

"Yes? What is it? Don't you know how early it is?"

"Brigadier Sir Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart," she said. It was clearly not a question. "May I come in, Brigadier?"

"Who the blazes are you?" he demanded.

"My name is River Song," she said. She paused. "I'm the Doctor's wife."

"The doctor? What doctor? Doctor who?" 

"Not any doctor, Brigadier. _The_ Doctor."

For several seconds, Lethbridge-Stewart could only stare blankly at the woman. After a moment, an impudent smile appeared on her face.

"Good lord," he said, at last. "I always wondered what his real name was. Please do come in, Mrs. Song."

"Thank you, Brigadier," she said. She stepped into the house. "But the Doctor's name isn't Song. Mine is. You can call me River, and I shall call you 'Brigadier' because that's how he has always spoken of you."

Lethbridge-Stewart blinked. "As you wish. Please," he gestured toward the lounge, "go on through. Would you care for some tea? Or coffee?"

"Tea would be lovely, Brigadier. Thank you."

While he busied himself in the kitchen, Lethbridge-Stewart considered his guest. She was certainly lovely, but he had never thought of the Doctor as someone with romantic interests. He wondered if she was someone from the Doctor's own homeworld, or somewhere else in the universe. He wondered if she was human. His eye fell on the kitchen clock as he gathered up the tray of tea things. He wondered what the blue blazes she was doing in his home at 6:30 in the morning.

He carried the tea tray into the lounge and set it down on the low table in front of the couch. 

"Now, Miss Song, perhaps you would care to enlighten me as to the purpose of this visit," Lethbridge-Stewart said, once they were both well supplied with tea. "I presume that, given the way you introduced yourself, it has something to do with the Doctor?"

River Song raised her cup to her lips and sipped, raising her eyebrows appreciatively. As she lowered the cup, she glanced around the comfortable room. Doris's tastes had, fortunately, mainly coincided with his own, so the room was warm and inviting, but not overdone or full of chintz. Even so, as he watched Miss Song evaluate his furnishings, the Brigadier began to have an uneasy feeling that there was something wrong about the room. About the whole house, for that matter.

Something of his unease must have shown on his face, because the woman put down the tea cup and gave him an enigmatic look. "Tell me, Brigadier, what did you do yesterday?"

"I went to the office, of course."

"Really?" she said, with a raised eyebrow. "That's dedication for you, especially since the Doctor told me that you've been retired for over twenty years."

The Brigadier considered that. Yes. Yes, of course. He had retired. He even remembered a reunion that someone had organized. Somehow, he had ended up on Gallifrey -- Gallifrey! -- with four different incarnations of the Doctor. That had been a day, and no mistake. His daughter Kate was UNIT's Chief Scientific Officer now. He looked around the comfortable lounge again. But this was not correct. He had sold this house after Doris's death. He had lived at The Elms Retirement Community for some years now; the Doctor had visited him there at irregular intervals. He always kept a glass handy, just in case.

"What's going on? Who are you really, young woman?"

River Song smiled. "I am exactly who I said I am, Brigadier. As to what is going on, I'm not entirely certain yet, but I can tell you two certain truths. First, I am dead. I died saving the Doctor's life; in turn, he saved me -- literally. He uploaded my consciousness to a planet-sized computer."

Lethbridge-Stewart blinked. What a preposterous story. And yet...he considered himself a good judge of people, and everything about her indicated that she was telling him the truth. "Leaving aside the fact that you appear very much alive while sitting in my lounge drinking tea, Miss Song, what is the second truth?"

River's mobile face grew sober. "The second truth, Brigadier, and I'm very sorry to be the one to tell you this, is that you are also dead. You died at The Elms, in your sleep."

Lethbridge-Stewart barked out a laugh. "And this is, what, heaven?"

"No. This is not any kind of heaven, Brigadier." River reached into a pocket and pulled out a compact. "Take this, Brigadier. Look at yourself."

He accepted the compact and opened it. The face in the mirror was his, just as it had always been, just as he... He closed the compact with a click and handed it silently back to his guest. She returned it to her pocket.

"Good lord," he breathed after a long moment in which River sipped her tea and waited. "Good lord. I look forty years younger."

"And quite handsome, too," River said with an impish smile. "If I weren't already married...."

"Now, really, Miss Song," he responded irritably. "Do tell me what is going on."

She shrugged. "There is not much I can tell you yet, Brigadier. I can tell you that where we are currently having this delightful conversation and tea is inside a computer system."

"Yours?"

She shook her head. "No. Not mine. The one I inhabit isn't really mine, either, but that's neither here nor there. No, Brigadier, this computer system is Gallifreyan in origin."

"The Doctor's, then?"

"No. The Doctor doesn't like goodbyes, but he would never try to capture a consciousness at the moment of death." She paused. "Well, all right, almost never, since that's essentially what he did to me. Still, can't really complain, can I?"

"Get to the point, Miss Song."

She smiled. "Aren't you ever so impatient. Just like he said. My point is that consciousnesses are being uploaded to a Gallifreyan computer system at the moment of death. For what purpose, I do not know. Although I have encountered consciousnesses from other planets, it appears to be mainly happening on Earth, _but_ it is happening throughout Earth's history. And let me tell you, my encounter with Queen Elizabeth the First was _not_ a pleasant one."

"Why would someone be capturing and storing human minds, Miss Song?"

"I don't know, Brigadier, but I intend to find out."

"And _who_ would be doing such a thing?"

"I don't know that, either, not for certain. But consider this: it's _Gallifreyan_ technology."

"So it must be a Time Lord."

"Almost certainly. And I have noticed something interesting: all of the uploaded consciousnesses _not_ from Earth have had an encounter with the Doctor."

Lethbridge-Stewart considered the problem. "There is only one Time Lord that I know of who has been to Earth and who has a grudge against the Doctor...though I'm hardly an expert on such things. My daughter is the one to talk to there; she has studied everything there is known about the Doctor."

"Indeed?" There was a mischievous smile on River Song's face now. "And here I thought that was _my_ area of expertise."

"Well, everything known on Earth, anyway," Lethbridge-Stewart amended. "What did you need from me, Miss Song?"

River put down her cup. "At the moment, Brigadier, just observations. Whoever is doing this is not doing it for altruistic reasons. No matter how things may seem," and here, she made a gesture that seemed to encompass the whole of his small, comfortable house, "this is not being done out of the goodness of someone's heart."

"Or hearts," Lethbridge-Stewart said.

Miss Song's eyes crinkled with her smile. "Very good, Brigadier."

"How will I contact you?"

"I am not certain you can. I will have to set up some sort of two-way communication line, but in the meantime, I will visit you when I can. In the meantime, Brigadier, just act...normal. Go about your day-to-day activities as if you still lived in this house. Live. They may not contact you directly, but I suspect that they will be monitoring you." 

She raised her head, suddenly looking for all the world like a hound scenting something. "I have to go, Brigadier. I will contact you when I can." She raised her arm; a wide band encircled her slim wrist. She touched it and vanished, just as a knock sounded on his front door.

He gathered up the tea tray and deposited it in the kitchen on his way to the door, which he reached at the second knock.

The woman standing there was dressed in Victorian-looking gear, but carried some sort of electronic device. She smiled when the door opened. "Brigadier Sir Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart?"

"Yes?"

"I am Missy," she said. "I was wondering if I could interest you in a subscription to the Times?"

~*~*~

**IX.**

There were those who said that Jack Harkness could not die. Immortal, that was Jack. But that wasn't quite accurate, Jack thought, staring at the Webley resting on the table before him. He most certainly _could_ die. He did it all the time. It was _staying_ dead that was the problem. 

Something odd was happening. Where once there had been only darkness when he died, now there was a whole...well, he supposed _afterlife_ was as good a term as any.

The whole thing raised his hackles. It wasn't just his instincts as a Time Agent or his long association with Torchwood that made him certain some long game was being played. In part, it was two thousand years spent buried beneath Cardiff living and dying in an endless cycle that should have driven him mad -- and in all that time, there had been only blackness. A sudden smile quirked one side of his mouth. He hadn't thought of it before, but he was actually older than the Doctor now. 

"How about that," he said softly. 

He looked at the pistol again. He was uniquely qualified to investigate whatever was going on, to assess whether there was a threat or not, and then mobilize forces against it. He just...really hated getting shot. He was going to have a headache for days -- assuming, of course, that he really did come back to life this time. There wasn't necessarily a guarantee...which was why lying on the table next to the Webley was a thick packet addressed to Kate Stewart at UNIT.

He moved the envelope away; it wouldn't do to get blood on it.

He picked up the pistol.

~*~*~

**X.**

After relocating to bustling Rome, Lobus Caecilius became a wealthy and successful man, just as he had always dreamed, but he never failed to give honor to the household gods, especially the Doctor and the Noble Lady who had rescued his family from dying Pompeii. He lived a long and happy life and died peacefully surrounded by his children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren, with Metella his wife holding his hand and smiling that smile he loved.

When he next opened his eyes, he found himself in a marble-walled garden of surpassing beauty. He was seated on a bench, and next to him was a woman clad all in imperial purple. 

"So you're where he got it," she said with a peculiar smile.

"I beg your pardon, domina?"

"As well you should." She laughed, and patted his leg. "Never mind, my dear. Never mind."

"If I may ask, domina, are you Proserpina?" Her appearance was not what he was expecting in the mistress of the Underworld, but appearances -- as he knew -- could be deceiving.

The wide smile that appeared on her face at his question was not reassuring. Caecilius stopped himself from shrinking. He was dead now; there was nothing more to worry about. Still he found his fingers shaping the gesture of respect that he often made toward the household gods.

The woman noticed, of course. "I am as much a god as the Doctor." 

"You know the Doctor? And the Noble Lady?" He answered his own question. "Of course you do. You are all gods together. Please, domina, forgive me."

"Nothing to forgive, dear boy. Nothing to forgive. Well, let's get on with this, shall we?" She stood and gestured around. "Welcome to the Underworld, Lucius Caecilius Iucundus."

Caecilius stared at her a moment. "Domina? I am not Lucius Caecilius Iucundus."

"Of course you are."

"No, domina, I assure you I am not."

"Well, who are you, then?"

"I am Lobus Caecilius, domina."

"You are the marble-seller that the Doctor rescued from Pompeii, yes?"

"Yes, domina."

"I thought your name was Lucius Caecilius."

"No, domina. I am Lobus Caecilius."

She flapped a hand at him in irritation. "Whatever. Seb can sort it all out later. In the meantime, welcome to the Underworld."

Caecilius thanked her, but in the back of his mind, was already wondering how the Underworld could be so disorganized. Still, that he had reached the garden rather than the pit of torments was a weight off his mind. Once again, he gave thanks to the household gods...though something told him to keep his praises to himself.

~*~*~

**XI.**

"Captain Jack Harkness," a woman's voice said. "As I live and breathe. So to speak."

Jack opened his eyes. He wasn't in the office this time. Interesting. Instead, he was in a rather ratty-looking hallway, narrow and dimly-lit, and standing in front of him was one of the most dangerous beings in the entire universe. Every Time Agent studied her life; whole curricula were based on her exploits. Rumor had it that she had taught more than a few of those classes herself. No one knew whence she had come, nor to where she had finally disappeared.

"River Song," Jack replied with one of his brighter smiles. "How nice to finally meet you." He glanced around at the short, dingy corridor in which they stood. "Can't say much for the ambiance, though."

"I should have known a Time Agent would recognize me. As for the ambiance, don't complain, soldier. There are far worse places we could meet. And," she said with a smirk, "we have."

"Pretty sure I'd remember if I'd met you before."

She shook her head. Her curls bounced fetchingly. "A time traveller should know better, Jack Harkness."

Jack grinned. "I'll look forward to it, then. I hope you'll let me buy you a drink."

"I'm married," River said.

"I don't mind," Jack replied.

"My husband might. He can be terribly old-fashioned sometimes."

"Who's the lucky fellow?" Jack asked. "Anyone I know?"

River smiled coyly. "Oh, I think you've met him a time or two. Even travelled with him. Of course, he was younger, then."

For one of the few times in his long life, Jack was caught off guard and speechless. He gaped at her. "The _Doctor_?" he spluttered. "You're married to the _Doctor?_ "

"Yup."

"Time Lord from Gallifrey, travels through all of time and space in a blue police box, picks up strays here and there, has a penchant for saving the world, Doctor? That guy?"

"The same." River was clearly enjoying his shock.

"Wow." Jack shook his head. "I just never pictured him as the marrying type."

"People do change -- as you well know, Jack Harkness."

"True enough. Congratulations, Miss Song, on the catch of the century," Jack said. He paused. "Catch of most centuries, in fact."

"Thank you. I'd love to chat longer, Jack, but we don't, as you know, have a lot of time. I am meeting you here because I want you to do me a favor."

Jack started to respond in his usual flippant manner, but something about River's expression stopped him. "What sort of favor?" he asked instead.

"Stop dying. Please."

"What?"

"You have to stop dying, Jack," River said. "I don't care what it takes. Go on vacation. Get off planet. Go hide in a monastery in Tibet. Something. Anything."

Jack frowned. "Why? What's going on? I know there's something going on, it's why I actually killed myself this time."

River shook her head. "I don't know what's going on, not entirely. Not yet. All I know is that someone is harvesting dead minds and storing them. You've been there, more than once. Each time you are resurrected, your mind is transferred back to your body. But for the brief period in between, it's there. In the Nethersphere."

"The Nethersphere?"

She shrugged. The movement did appealing things to the neckline of her tunic, Jack noticed.

"Focus, Jack," she said, and his eyes snapped back to her face. "That's what they're calling it. It's a Gallifreyan computer storage system."

"Gallifreyan! But Gallifrey is gone." But in his mind, Jack saw an image of Gallifrey falling into the sky over Earth one Christmas. "Gallifrey _was_ gone," he said slowly. "But for a few moments, it was back. It was _here_."

River nodded. "Summoned here through a mental link with the Master, a link put into place by Rassilon himself."

"Rassilon? The guy whose name is on everything?"

She nodded. "The very same. But he's not behind this. Gallifrey is gone again, locked away. No, the author of this is someone else."

Jack made the obvious connection. If not the Doctor, then.... "The Master?"

"I don't know for certain, but the Master is the most likely candidate. At the moment, though, it doesn't matter _who_ is responsible. Please, Jack. Just do as I ask. For his sake, if not for your own."

There had been a time when an appeal in the name of the Doctor would have made Jack do anything, anything at all. Then, there was a time when if someone had even mentioned the Doctor, violence would have followed. The pendulum had swung; Jack knew and understood the Doctor better now. "All right," he said. "I can't make any promises, obviously, but I will do my best." Something occurred to him suddenly. "Wait a second. If I'm dead, how can you be here, River Song?"

She smiled at him sadly. "How do you think, Jack?"

Before he could answer that, Jack found himself gulping in lungfuls of stale, cold air. Damn. He hated waking up in morgues.

~*~*~

**XII.**

The man whom the Earth had known as Harold Saxon blinked at the nearly perfect replica of the main chamber of the Tomb of Rassilon. "This is unexpected."

A purple-clad woman sat atop Rassilon's sarcophagus, kicking her feet against one of the stone faces on the side. "Not quite unexpected," she said. "In that _I_ expected it. Do you like it?" She gestured at the room. "I had it made just for you."

"It's a little grungy, don't you think? And _so_ old-fashioned." It reminded him of being laid out by an old soldier-turned-teacher. He resisted the urge to rub his jaw. He had woken up in custody back in the Capitol, and hadn't _that_ been a hassle?

The woman's eyes glinted. "Well, then. Perhaps you'd prefer something a little more recent." She waved a hand and suddenly he found himself standing on the bridge of the _Valiant_. Various humans stood frozen in various attitudes of shock, all looking at the same thing...his dead body, cradled in the Doctor's arms. 

"He cried, you know," the woman said, coming up beside him. She walked around the little tableau. "After all this time, after all those battles, he still wept for your death." She danced a few skipping steps and the heels of her boots sounded a familiar four-beat tattoo on the ship's metal deck. "It gave me hope. It really did."

She turned her attention to the frozen figure of Lucy Saxon. "Pretty little Lucy Saxon," she crooned. She turned back to Harold Saxon. "You really should pay more attention to your pets, _Harry_. She _shot_ you. Shot you dead, too. You know, plans or no plans, it would've been easier to just regenerate. All of that 'Sacred Books of Saxon' nonsense was just ridiculous. I'm really rather embarrassed about that whole thing -- especially how easy it was for little Lucy to sabotage it. But don't worry. I'm taking care of sweet Lucy. I'm using a trick I learned from the _Teselecta_. She's not enjoying her death, poor little thing."

"Who the hell are you?" Saxon demanded. "How do you know all that? _No_ one knows about that!"

The woman sighed. "Harry, dear -- do you mind if I call you Harry? -- _everyone_ knew about that. Well, everyone except the Doctor. You should have _seen_ his face! Well, you _will_ see his face."

"How do you know who I am? What is this place? Who _are_ you?"

The woman sighed. "You know, for a genius, you're pretty dim sometimes." She waved her hand again. The bridge of the _Valiant_ was replaced by a marble hallway lined with tanks full of liquid. A human skeleton was seated in the center of each tank. The woman pointed. Hovering in a dark corner was a sphere covered in lights.

"That's a Gallifreyan matrix sphere." He turned back to the woman. "Where did you get that?"

"Where do you think I got it, genius?"

All right, she was really starting to irritate him. He didn't have a weapon on him -- of course -- but he began to consider wrapping his hands around her delicate neck and.... He took a deep breath. "Gallifrey," he said, through clenched teeth, "is gone."

The woman shrugged. "It won't be. The next time you're there, you're going to have to obtain a couple of things for me, starting with the matrix sphere." She pointed at it with her chin. "A TARDIS wouldn't go amiss, either."

"Who the hell _are_ you?"

Somewhere, a bell began to toll. "Ah," the woman said brightly. "Time's up. Back to Earth for you, Harry. Sorry about what's going to happen, but at least it'll get you back to Gallifrey eventually where you can attend to my little shopping list."

The skeleton-lined hallway began to fade around him. Saxon felt himself drawn into a powerful vortex. "Wait!" he cried, "are you the Rani?"

The sound of laughter echoed back to him. "Really? _Really_? Do I _look_ like the Rani to you? I'm _you_ , genius. Or I will be. Remember to get the groceries!"

Energy crackled around him. The drumbeat of his life suddenly crescendoed, and the Master laughed, as he was pulled once more to life.

~*~*~

**XIII.**

River Song's visits to the Nethersphere had become fairly routine. She easily made her way where she needed to go -- mostly to visit her circle of informants, which now included William Shakespeare, Winston Churchill, and Charles Dickens in addition to Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart and Harriet Jones. The latter two had been almost starstruck upon meeting Churchill, especially Harriet, who was in awe of her predecessor in office. Shakespeare and Dickens, having both had brushes with otherworldly creatures, as well as having keen intellects, had at once suspected that all was not as it seemed with the afterlife. All were only too happy to help River amass data on their new home.

On her fifteenth incursion into the Nethersphere, however, she found herself most unexpectedly diverted. At the last doorway, which normally went from her entry point, a series of dimly-lit, narrow ship-style corridors sectioned by bulkhead doors, into the infinitely long white hallway of an office building, the door instead opened into an area she had never seen. A dark-haired young woman in a red dress lounged on a sofa in front of a bank of monitors, a keyboard perched precariously on her curled up legs.

"Ah, there you are. Come in," she said. She stared intently at the monitors for a moment more, her right hand flying over the keyboard, then she set the keyboard aside and looked at River. " _You_ have been sneaking into my systems, River Song. Why?"

"Who are you?" River asked. "You look like Clara Oswald, but you're not her. You must be a splinter."

The girl uncurled her legs and got up, holding a hand out to River. "Oswin Oswald, Junior Entertainment Manager, starship _Alaska_." She frowned. "Or, at least, I _was_. Then I was a Dalek. Now, I'm...something else." She gestured to an easy chair near her couch, waiting for River to seat herself before she sat back down with her legs folded up beside her, but she was only seated for a moment before a sudden bell caused her to pop back up. "Oh! Hang on a sec! That's my soufflé!"

River watched, bemused, as the girl hurried through a doorway. After witnessing Clara Oswald's leap into the Doctor's timeline to fix what the Great Intelligence had sent wrong, River had done some research. It was amazing what one could find out when one's home was the greatest library ever built. What was it one of her professors had once said? _Seventy percent of all archaeology is done in the library?_ Though the Library was almost certainly not what he had had in mind. She had managed to ferret out many of Clara's splinter-lives, including Oswin Oswald. It was because of Oswin that River had finally been pardoned and freed from Stormcage. Oswin had erased all mention of the Doctor, and so there was no record of River having murdered anyone. But River was an archaeologist. She knew how to look for someone by their absence....

The door swung open and Oswin followed it. "Sorry about that," she said. "I keep trying to make a proper soufflé, but they keep falling." She settled back on her couch. "Anyway, that's not why you're here, is it."

River paused to think of a good story, but Oswin held up a hand. "Don't bother, Doctor Song. I know who you are. And I know what you're doing. I brought you here to tell you _why_ you're doing it."

River was not often caught flat-footed, but at that, she could only stare. "How do you know?" she asked at last.

Oswin shrugged. "Everything you see here," she waved her hand gracefully in the air, "everything around you, is built from me. My coding, my skills, my regulation, _me_."

River frowned. "Why?"

"Because of what I was. Because I was a computer genius _before_ I was a Dalek. Because, as you said, I was once Clara Oswald, or part of her. Because, like you, Doctor Song, I am no longer alive. I've learned a lot since my death." She picked up her keyboard and her hands danced over the keys. "But none of this was my idea."

"Then who?"

"Look on the monitor."

River looked. She did not recognize the woman pictured there. "Who is she?"

"An old friend of the Doctor's," Oswin said.

River shook her head. "I know all of the Doctor's friends."

Oswin's mouth quirked. "Well, 'friend' might be a bit generous." Her fingers moved and a different person appeared on the screen. This was a man, appearing to be in his late middle-age, hair slicked back from a widow's peak, grey framing his goatee. "How about now? Or, maybe now?" Oswin clicked a few more keys and a different man appeared on the screen -- younger. Clean-shaven. Blonde.

"The Master," River breathed.

"The Master," Oswin agreed. "Or, in this case, the Mistress. Though she's been calling herself Missy."

"Why?" River asked. "What is she doing?" Oswin's hand flew over the keyboard again. New images appeared on her monitors. Schematics, plans, charts, numbers. River blanched. "She can't! That's monstrous!"

"She can," Oswin said. "She is. There's nothing we can do to stop it. But we can save some of them. I know what you are, River Song, and I know where you come from. Missy has insured that I cannot contravene her plan. She thinks she has me under her control, but what worked on the Dalek Asylum works here just as well. Part of me is still _me_. I can't just crash the Nethersphere. But I can help you to save some of them. Surely there's room in the Library. Please, River."

River nodded. "I'll speak with Charlotte and Doctor Moon." She rose to her feet. Impulsively, she leaned down and kissed Oswin on the cheek. "Thank you, Oswin."

Oswin blushed. "I wish I could do more."

"We all do what we can," River said. She shook her head. "That infuriating, wonderful man...we're still helping him even after we die."

Oswin smiled. "Did you have something else to do?"

~*~*~

**XIV.**

Rory started awake. He glanced at his watch, but it seemed to have stopped working. He wasn't entirely sure where he was, but he had been waiting in this office for a long time, and it was...so...boring....

The next time he opened his eyes, it was because his wife had just punched him. 

"Oi, wake up, Stupidface," she said sharply. He had the feeling she had called his proper name a couple of times already.

"All right, all right. I'm awake," he said, rubbing his arm. "There's no need for violence. What time is it?"

Amy gave him a _look_. 

"What? My watch has stopped."

Amy sighed. "You're not very observant, sometimes, you know that?"

Rory looked at his wife again. She shook her brilliant hair out of her face. Oh. _Oh_.... He looked down at his smooth hands, then back up at Amy -- not Amelia Williams, not his elderly wife, but _Amy Pond_ as she had been fifty years ago.

"What's going on?"

Amy shrugged. "I don't know. Want to find out?"

Rory smiled. "Yeah. Yeah, I do, actually. Do you suppose he's here?"

"Our son-in-law? Let's go see, shall we?"

"We're not supposed to leave the office," Rory said.

"Yeah," Amy responded. "I know. Are we going to let that stop us?"

Rory got to this feet. It was a lot easier than it had been in a long time. "Of course not. I'm just pointing it out, because it might be important. You know...a feeling that we're not supposed to leave, just to make us stay here."

"Not bad, husband," Amy said admiringly. "You haven't lost it after all. Even if you did die five years before me and slept through it."

"Wait, what?"

"You died five years ago, Rory," Amy said patiently. "And you've just been snoozing in this office ever since, haven't you."

Rory considered that. "Yup. I was tired." Now that he thought about it, he remembered the dying. Well, he remembered saying goodbye to Amelia and closing his eyes, anyway. After that, things got a bit hazy.

Amy kissed his nose. "That's probably important, too."

"So we're what, ghosts?"

Amy's eyes danced as she turned the door knob. "Wouldn't that be fun?" She peered out. "Standard white hallway with doors along it. Looks like an office building."

Rory joined her and poked his head out. The hallway gleamed. "It's awfully clean," he observed. "I hope this isn't heaven."

"What does it matter if we're together?"

Rory looked at his wife. The old fire gleamed in her eyes. He hadn't seen that particular look for a very long time. He smiled and took her hand. "It doesn't matter at all. C'mon. Let's go see what sort of trouble we can get into."

No klaxon sounded as they stepped out of the office, nor did they see anyone as they wandered hand-in-hand up the hallway. They stayed in the middle, though, well away from any of the doors. Rory felt a strong aversion to opening any of them. Instead, he wanted to go back to the office where Amy had found him and take a nap.

"Amy...."

"I know. I feel it, too. There's only one thing for it, you know." She let go of his hand and marched over to the nearest door and opened it, to reveal an empty office exactly like the one they had left, right down to the pens in the pen cup. Amy made an exasperated noise and marched over to the window. Rory closed the door and joined her just as she pulled the curtain back. 

"Do you remember that hotel?" Rory asked as they gazed up at the curving cityscape revealed.

"The one that turned out to be a prison ship for a Minotaur feeding on psychic energy?" Amy said. "Yeah, it rings a bell."

"Do you suppose this is something like that?" Rory craned his neck to try to get a look at their building, but couldn't seem to get a good angle.

"So the offices aren't real?" Amy let the green curtain fall, obscuring the view. She took a pen from the cup and wrote her name on the blotter. Rory noticed that she wrote "Amy Pond," rather than "Amelia Williams." He hid a smile. To be honest, he felt much more like "Mr. Pond" than "Dr. Williams." It felt...good.

"Let's see if we can find a way outside," he suggested.

"Okay." Amy tossed the pen onto the desk.

Back in the hallway, Rory noticed that the act of opening one of the doors seemed to have broken the compulsion to remain in place. Amy nodded when he mentioned it. "Sometimes the best thing you can do is poke about where you don't belong. Shall we open some doors, husband? I'll take this side, you take that?"

Rory nodded and crossed the hall to the door opposite the one they had just exited. He opened it and stuck his head in: another office. He closed it and turned to Amy. "Office."

She nodded and marched up the hallway to the next door. "Office," she reported. And so it went. They progressed from door to door up the seemingly unending corridor. Behind each door was an office identical to all the others. Rory had lost count of the number of doors they had opened and had actually become a bit bored with it all when he opened one to find his daughter sitting behind the desk. He gaped.

"Hello, Dad," River Song said, with a smile. She was dressed in a utilitarian outfit, and her blaster, Rory saw when she stood up to greet him, was holstered at her hip.

"River! What are you doing here?" He hugged her; like Amy, she was real and solid. "Oh, River. You're not dead, too, are you?"

She pulled back from the hug and met his eyes. "Oh, Dad. I've been dead for a long time."

"What?"

"Rory, what's -- River!" Amy had clearly noticed that Rory hadn't come right out of the office after opening the door.

"Hello, Mum," River said, looking over Rory's shoulder. She kept one arm around Rory, but held the other wide to include Amy in the embrace. "I am so glad to see you both."

"But what are you doing here?" Amy asked. " _We_ died. In New York. Of old age. _You_ shouldn't be here."

"Oh, Mum," River said, shaking her head.

Amy gasped, and her hand flew to her mouth. "Melody?" There was a note in her voice that Rory had only heard a few times. Once at Demon's Run. Once just after they had been transported to the past. Once when they lost Melody again after having found their newly-regenerated child in 1970.

He put an arm around his wife. "It's all right, Amy." He looked at River. "I think we deserve an explanation, River."

His daughter nodded. "You do, Dad. But now is not the time for it. This is not a good place, and we really need to leave before someone notices that we're here."

"But we've been here for a long time now, and haven't seen anyone," Rory protested.

River shrugged. "Some times are busier than others. Right now is a busy time, so it's taking them a long time to process new arrivals. Mostly, they just set them to a rest cycle until they can get to them."

"Rest cycle," Rory repeated. "That's what happened to me? Why I was so sleepy?"

River nodded. "I didn't interfere, because I figured it would be safer to wait until Mum got here. Then we could all go at once."

"But we died," Amy repeated. "Why are we here? This seems awfully boring for the afterlife. Is this hell?"

"Scottish," Rory murmured, as River laughed.

"No, Mum, it's not hell." She considered that. "Well, it could be, I suppose, if the Mistress chose it to be; she is the architect of all of this."

"Is this someone we want to meet?"

"No, Dad. We definitely do _not_ want to meet her. We want to stay as far beneath her notice as we can get. She isn't a nice person. I think we should be going, don't you?"

"And where are we going, then, miss?" Amy asked.

"You'll see," River said. "I think you'll like it. Stick close to me."

She opened the office door and peered out. Her weapon, Rory saw, was now in her hand. Suddenly, his palm itched for the reassuring weight of his gladius. He blinked. He hadn't thought of the Centurion in years.

"All clear," River said. "Follow me."

They proceeded down the shining corridor, which somehow seemed sinister now. It also reminded Rory of something. "River," he said quietly. "Is this a TARDIS?"

She looked over her shoulder at him with an expression of mild surprise. "No, it's not. Why do you ask?"

He shrugged. "It just reminded me of a time that Amy and I were stuck in the TARDIS corridors."

"I was just thinking that," Amy said with a shiver. Rory squeezed her hand.

"You'll have to tell me all about it," River said. "But not right now. To answer your question, Dad, no. It's not a TARDIS. But it _is_ Gallifreyan technology. And I will explain that later, as well. Right now, we need to get out of here."

They went on down the corridor, passing doors at regular intervals. At last, River opened one seemingly at random. Instead of an office, though, there was another corridor. In contrast to the gleaming expanse in which they were standing, this one was narrow, dimly-lit, and ended only a few paces away in what looked like a bulkhead door. River waved her parents into the short hallway and carefully closed the door behind them before moving up to the bulkhead door. She punched a code into the keypad on the wall and the door slowly slid open, revealing another short hallway ending at a bulkhead. That door revealed yet another bulkhead.

"What is all this?" Amy asked, after they had gone through several of those short corridors.

"The Nethersphere," River said, "is a Gallifreyan hard drive. These short corridors are...a hack, if you like. We're leaving the Nethersphere."

"And where are we going?" Rory asked.

River approached the door in front of them. "We're going home," she said. Instead of entering a code at this door, she laid her palm on it. "It's me."

The door slid open, revealing a wide lawn, a huge white house, and a misty spring morning. Birds could be heard singing in the trees. Near the house, a little girl with long hair waited beside a tall, bespectacled black man.

"Mum, Dad," River said, "welcome home." She took their hands and drew them into the Library, while behind them, the door to the Nethersphere slid shut.

~*~*~

**XV.**

"Well, _that_ was rude. And I lost my glasses." Osgood looked around at the fuzzy darkness. She seemed to be standing on a balcony. In the distance, lights were going out.

"Um, I'm afraid we're closed."

Osgood gasped.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you. It's just that...well, we're closed for business, now. Not accepting any new customers."

Osgood squinted at the man, but then found that her eyesight suddenly cleared as she lost the image and reverted to her own form. "Damn," she said. After so long, her own raspy, hissing voice sounded quite unnatural to her. "I quite liked being that one. I wasn't sure about it at the start because of the asthma and the myopia, but it turned out to be a good one."

"Also, there doesn't seem to be a body for you to go back to. So I guess you get to 'go on,' as they say." The man crooked his fingers in the air, a gesture that she had learned in her tenure with UNIT. 

"Ah. So I am dead, then. Killed by the Mistress? I suppose that I shall rate songs and glory, then, in the afterlife."

"Wouldn't know," the man said, as the Zygon faded away. "Haven't really been there...."

~*~*~

**Epilogue:**

Amy had always wanted a family portrait: Herself, Rory, River, the Doctor, or failing that, at least herself and Rory with their daughter. She and Rory were old when they at last had a formal photograph with their daughter. Melody was still a child, then, before she had become Mels, and long before she became River. It had still been hanging on the wall of their house the day she died. Visitors thought Melody was her granddaughter. 

Now, though, she was finally getting her wish. The three of them together...if Vincent would ever stop fiddling and start painting, anyway. In the distance she heard raised voices -- Churchill, Dickens, and Shakespeare arguing again. Men.

She wondered if the Doctor would ever know what River had done, how many of his friends her daughter had managed to save from the Nethersphere. Probably not, but looking around her at her own family and friends, she thought that maybe that was all right. And maybe someday he'd come back to the Library, and wouldn't they have a surprise for him then....

"That's it!" Vincent said. "Hold that smile, Amy!" And he began to paint.


End file.
